


Netflix And Kill

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: Alex Rider - Anthony Horowitz
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Conflict of Interests, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Happy Ending, M/M, Mild Angst, Mild Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:08:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29755950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: Dating is hard when you're a secret agent and your boyfriend's an international assassin.
Relationships: Yassen Gregorovich/Alex Rider
Comments: 9
Kudos: 76





	Netflix And Kill

Alex plonked himself down onto the sofa with a sigh of relief, mission report done, spell-checked and emailed.

Yassen curled an arm around him. “Did you proof read it this time?” 

Alex looked shifty. “Yes,” he lied. Yassen looked at him and he squirmed. “It’ll be fine. That was one time.”

“I wish I’d been there when Alan Blunt was forced to read about your suspicions regarding a virus-smuggling cock worker,” Yassen mused happily. “I’d quite like to witness him having a heart attack.”

Alex punched him in the side. “It said dock worker quite clearly everywhere else.”

“Just not in the title,” Yassen reminded him. “I can still hear the scream when you noticed.” 

Alex winced. “Can we change the subject? What are we watching?” He peered at the screen and wrinkled his nose. “Oh bloody hell no.”

“My turn to choose,” Yassen reminded him, although out of principle more than any expectation of winning the ensuing argument. Truth be told he didn’t really care what they watched, he just liked being here with Alex with no other demands on his time. 

“I don’t want to watch anything with subtitles.”

“That’s not what your search history says.”

Alex bristled. “Anime’s not the same thing as boring political dramas. Anyway I just meant I don’t want to have to concentrate tonight. And you’re supposed to stay out of my laptop, remember?”

“You should change your password more often,” Yassen suggested, prudently not mentioning that the reason he’d needed to use Alex’s laptop in the first place was because he’d set his own password to something so secure he couldn’t remember it. 

Alex took possession of the remote and flicked aimlessly through the film channel. While he was occupied muttering dire invective about the spy movies on offer Yassen felt his phone buzz and slipped it discreetly out of his pocket.

Not discreetly enough as it turned out, when Alex put the remote down and glared at him accusingly. “No!”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You promised! A whole evening together!”

“And it’s a promise I’m keeping.” Yassen cleared his throat. “I’ll just, er - go and pick up the takeaway, shall I?”

Alex gave him a mutinous look. “We could get it delivered.”

“I fancy a walk.”

“I could come with you.”

“You’re tired.” Yassen kissed him on the top of his head and got up. “Phone it through. I’ll be back in no time.”

“Promise?” Alex said suspiciously.

“Cross my heart and – well. Maybe not hope to die, eh?”

Alex stuck his tongue out, but Yassen had already gone. He sighed, pulling a cushion into his lap and hugging it instead. He knew perfectly well Yassen had been called away and the fact he hadn’t told him where he was going suggested it was to do something Alex’s superiors wouldn’t approve of. 

Still, Yassen wouldn’t outright lie to him, which meant he really did intend coming back. Alex experienced a vague twinge of guilt as he caught himself hoping whoever it was died quickly enough that the takeaway didn’t go cold. 

He got the website up on his mobile, on the grounds that nobody in their right minds _phoned_ takeaway orders through any more. Having placed their usual food order and ticked the ‘pay on collection’ option on the grounds it served Yassen right, he was about to put it down again when it vibrated with an incoming call.

Mrs Jones.

“Oh fuck _off_ ,” Alex groaned. He considered not answering, but she was perfectly capable of sending someone round and that would be awkward if they ran into Yassen coming back. He picked up.

“What?” he demanded grumpily. “It’s my night off.”

“Unfortunately the criminal underworld doesn’t appear to have been informed of your schedule,” she replied tartly, by now entirely used to Alex’s grumbling. “I need you to meet someone. Petrovich, he’s a Russian dissident and lobbyist. He’s defecting, along with his cousin and advisor Rachinkov. He’s arriving tonight and has requested an escort.”

“Try the nearest phonebox, they’re sure to have plenty of cards.”

“Not that kind of escort Alex.” Mrs Jones sounded tired. 

“Why me? I’m not a bodyguard. What’s wrong with special forces?” 

“We’ve sent a security detail and Petrovich also has his own, but he’s asked for representation from the Department as a sign of good faith. He’s flying into London City, you should get there in time for his arrival if you leave now. All you have to do is see him safely to his hotel. And before you bleat ‘why me’ again, because you’re closest and because I’m telling you to. I’ll send you the details.” 

Alex sighed. He knew when he was beaten. He scrawled a quick note to Yassen – _had to go out, don’t eat all the prawn crackers_ \- and went to change into something vaguely more professional looking than sweatpants and ratty t-shirt.

His flat was in the Docklands, and the airport wasn’t far. He recognised a couple of the security agents hanging round the entrance, and made himself known to them. They didn’t look terribly impressed at having a nineteen year old join them, but the clearance level on his ID was enough to keep all negative thoughts internal. 

“You’re here because of the active threat, presumably?”

“I think I’m mostly political window dressing,” Alex admitted, then did a double take. “Hang on, what threat? Nobody said anything about a threat?”

“Apparently there’s a rumour someone’ll try and take Petrovich out tonight.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake, I – oh, _no_.” Alex suddenly made a very unpleasant connection. He dug out his mobile and called Yassen but it went straight to answerphone. He hung up without leaving a message. It _was_ still possible that Yassen was just sitting innocently in the Chinese takeaway waiting for their supper. Possible, but increasingly unlikely.

“Here they come.”

Alex looked up to see a small knot of men walking out of the terminal. He imagined their passage through the formalities had been eased into virtual non-existence, and spared a vaguely resentful thought for the fact the law was so easily bypassed by those who had something to sell. Secrets, in this case, he imagined.

Petrovich was a large man, both tall and broad, and Alex found he could easily imagine him in fur hat and coat in the snow. Did Russians wear fur hats any more? He’d have to ask Yassen. The thought made him look up and round at the neighbouring buildings, but it was dark and there was no movement to be seen. Probably he was just being paranoid. Probably.

He looked back at the arrivals. The man next to Petrovich must be his cousin. Rachinkov was a lot thinner, with a nasty little moustache that Alex immediately took an instinctive dislike to. It was probably wrong to judge people based on their facial hair, but on the other hand it also saved time.

Not that Alex was inclined to like any of them, given that they’d screwed up his evening. But he had a job to do, and if that meant standing in front of Petrovich to dissuade certain highly-paid disruptive elements from shooting him, then so be it.

The nasty thought crossed his mind that if he was wrong about Yassen being the hitman he could end up getting shot anyway. That really would put a crimp on his evening.

Even if he was right...how far would Yassen go to carry out a job? Alex didn’t think he’d actually hurt him but to be fair it was a question that had never been put to the test.

His skin crawled as they walked out of the shelter of the building towards the waiting car. Both men were closely surrounded, but a sniper with enough elevation could still take a shot. Especially given that Petrovich was about a head taller than everyone else.

Inconveniently Petrovich had also paused, looking around as if to take in the rather underwheming sights of his new country.

“Can you get in the car please sir?” Alex snapped, and drew an indignant stare. Alex assumed he spoke English but just in case he followed it up by pointing firmly at the open door, as if directing a stubborn toddler. It was often the best approach with diplomats. 

Petrovich opened his mouth, but whatever he was about to say was lost as there was a crack of a high-powered rifle and blood spattered across his face.

Alex was moving before the security men, grabbing Petrovich and shoving him bodily into the back seat before Rachinkov’s body had even hit the ground.

Perhaps thinking he was under attack by his own side, Petrovich kicked out violently and Alex fell out of the car again, scraping his face on the pavement.

“Next time I’m letting you get shot,” Alex growled, cautiously sitting up. Nobody else seemed to have been shot at, and it was clearly too late for Rachinkov, who was staring sightlessly skywards with a hole in his forehead. 

Half the security had disappeared in the direction the shot had come from, and Alex felt a twinge of anxiety. He’d promised himself he’d never let his relationship become a conflict of interest when it came to carrying out his job, but that didn’t mean he wanted anything to happen to Yassen. If it even had been him. Puzzled, Alex stared at Petrovich, who was looking out at him from the back of the car, alarmed and confused.

Alex sighed, and slammed the door shut on him.

–

Alex walked into the apartment silently praying that Yassen would be there ahead of him, but the place was empty, his note still lying where he’d left it. He crumpled it in his hand and dropped it in the bin. Yassen would be fine. Of course he would. The fact that several of the Russian bodyguards had returned fire – they’d been aiming blind. It would have taken an insanely lucky shot to make contact.

He stripped off and took a shower, wincing as the hot water made the scrape on his face sting. Towelled off, got dressed again in jeans and hoodie, slumped back on the sofa. 

The knock on the door a few minutes later had Alex on his feet almost before he’d consciously registered it. 

He yanked it open and let out a shaky sigh of relief to find Yassen standing there with a takeaway bag.

“You’ve been ages,” Alex complained, because what else could he say? 

Yassen gave him a rueful smile, holding out the bag. “Sorry. There was quite the queue. You might need to heat it up.”

Alex took it, his hand lingering over Yassen’s for a moment. “I’ll stick it in the microwave.”

Yassen followed him into the kitchen. “You changed your clothes.”

“Figured I’d have a shower while you were out.” Alex shrugged, opening the plastic cartons and shoving them into the microwave.

Yassen moved round into his line of sight. “Did you slip?” he asked softly, tracing the graze on Alex’s cheek with a light finger. 

“Something like that.” They looked at each other with a certain helpless understanding.

“Busy night, huh?” 

“Yeah.”

Yassen held out his arms and Alex fell into them with a sigh. They stood there just holding each other for the whole time it took the food to heat up, then carried it back to the sofa.

They put a film on, but neither of them paid much attention to it. For one thing the unexpected night-time excursion had given both of them quite an appetite, and they demolished the food with a minimum of conversation. 

Afterwards, feeling pleasantly stuffed and sleepy, they lay in each other’s arms kissing quietly.

Yassen was clearly more than happy to avoid referring to the evening’s events directly and Alex was inclined to go along with it, except there’d been something nagging at him and he knew it would continue to bug him if he didn’t ask.

“Who was he?”

“Who?” Yassen gave him a look of innocent enquiry that suggested he knew exactly who Alex was talking about. 

Alex raised an eyebrow. “You don’t miss. Which means Petrovich was never the target.”

He got a cagey look in return. “Is this for your report?” 

“Just my curiosity, maybe.”

Yassen sighed. “Scorpia aren’t interested in Russian politics and neither am I. But Rachinkov had ties to them. He knew too many names and faces to be allowed to continue, if he was liable to start spilling information to win the trust of his new country.” Yassen paused. “He’s not a man who’ll be missed Alex, trust me.”

“Everyone thought it was a botched attempt on Petrovich.”

“As they were meant to.”

“And...what’s it worth, to let them carry on thinking that?” Alex enquired slowly.

Yassen gave a low laugh. “Well. I’m sure we can come to some form of agreement.” 

Maintaining eye contact the whole time, he shuffled down to kneel between Alex’s legs and carefully unzipped him. 

And as Alex lay back and Yassen took him into his mouth, he reflected that the occasional conflict of interests had some benefits to it after all.

–


End file.
